Coconut Kiss
by ch19777
Summary: The beach - a wonderful place to relax, to see your co-workers in swimwear and to feel more embarrassed than you thought possible. One-shot about Jane having a hard time at the beach, literally.


_Written for the jello-forever(dot)proboards(dot)com July 2009 challenge with the prompt "Beach Time". Infesting my mind with images of Jane at the beach inevitably led to this. My apologies in advance._

_**Disclaimer:** I didn't have time to properly proof-read this, so all mistakes in this story are mine. The characters in it, aren't._

* * *

A refreshing breeze ruffles my hair and tugs at my open shirt. I inhale deeply, fill my lungs with the salty, delicious air. Only a few steps more and I'm rewarded with the overwhelming sight of the restless ocean.

My love for the beach is a newfound one. It's not that I disliked beaches in the past, I simply didn't care about them. For me, they used to represent merely water and sand and crowds of noisy people. Until I one day, during a case, discovered just how relaxing the beach really is. Since that day I come here whenever I have the time.

White yachts cruise on the horizon and the soft sand warms my naked feet. I feel my body relaxing, all my troubles slipping away. I walk toward the water that glisters invitingly in the sun. I take off my shirt and my pants and put sunscreen on my body, even on my back. I don't need anyone to help me with this, but if _she_ would be here with me right now, I'd ask her to help me anyway.

Spreading out a towel, I lie down on my back and close my eyes.

The warmth of the sun awakens my sensuality even more than the thought of her already has.

A secluded bay.

Cooling waves.

A soft breeze caressing my heated body.

She, kissing me with sandy lips.

I smile. Here is the only place in the world where it feels right to think of her in that specific way. The house, that once was my home, certainly doesn't provide the right atmosphere. And at work, in her presence, I feel too self-conscious.

At the beach, however, anything is possible.

Here I feel most like myself.

I can dream.

Or fantasize.

Beautiful girls in swimwear can be quite inspiring and I'm only a man after all.

Most of the time, I don't need those beach girls though to inspire daydreams.

Lately, I hardly notice them.

I rather spend my time dreaming of her.

Here I not only have a past, but I allow myself to picture a future.

At this beach, a couple of months ago, I realized that I want her to be my future. Or, on my more shallow days, that I simply _want her_.

She doesn't know how I feel about her. Not yet. One day, when I have figured out how to tell her, she will know. For now, being at the beach and thinking of her is enough for me.

"Buster, drop it!"

My eyes open wide to make sure I'm not imagining things.

I'm not.

There, not very far away from me, Teresa Lisbon just strips down to a very tiny bikini that reveals more than it covers. A huge black dog is watching her every move, panting and tail-wagging.

My sentiments exactly, Buster.

She looks stunning, for lack of a better word. My eyes wander over her legs, her hips, her breasts and finally her face. She smiles. And then she laughs as the dog licks her shin. And as if being almost naked and laughing isn't enough to torture me, she begins to apply sunscreen to her skin.

Slowly.

Sensually.

Damn.

I can spot at least three guys, not counting myself, who ogle her. I feel the selfish urge to shield her from the other men's eyes, to have the view only for myself. I don't give in to that urge to not make a fool of myself. Also, I'm just too busy keeping track of her hands as they skillfully spoil her precious body. That's how people must feel when they are hypnotized, unable to behave like normal human beings and helplessly at the mercy of someone else.

It doesn't take long and I feel my own body reacting to the view of hers. Quickly I roll over to lie on my stomach. In my embarrassed and flustered condition, I am sure everyone on this beach noticed my 'excitement' before I was able to hide it. Some glancing around dispels my concerns and, most importantly, Lisbon is still oblivious to my presence.

I force myself to think innocuous thoughts and am relieved when Lisbon supports me by stopping to touch herself and settling down on her towel with a book. My turmoil of passions subsides, but I decide it is safer to stay in my current position on my stomach.

I try to find out which book Lisbon is reading to prove to myself that I'm interested in more than her body.

Really, I am.

It's only hard to focus on her mind in a situation like this.

I watch her turning the pages, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers, stroking Buster's head, drinking water, waving away a fly that persistently tries to land on her chest (I can't blame you, little insect, for trying again and again) - and suddenly it is over an hour later.

Time flies when you're having fun and watching Lisbon is most definitely a fun thing to do on a lazy Saturday afternoon. I toy with the idea to go over to her, but my head feels empty. For the first time in years, I don't know what I could say to her.

Another problem I have right now is that I should let my front side catch some sun as well and give my back a break, but I don't trust my body enough to turn around.

So I stay where I am, bound to her like a moth to the flame. After another twenty minutes, Lisbon puts down her book to take a nap and I decide to follow her example. At work, I always sleep better when she is around. Maybe it's because her presence creates a certain, hard to explain sense of security for me. Or maybe I just feel more content when I know where she is, that she is safe - safe from criminals and safe from guys who might try to seduce her or marry her.

I doze off and I feel like I have slept for at least half an hour, when suddenly a sound right next to me rudely awakes me. When I angrily open my eyes, my hearts starts beating faster.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up." Lisbon, who just spreads out her towel right next to mine, tells me. "I was over there, but then I saw you and thought it would be nice to come over."

I am speechless. This is _not_ how I would have pictured her reaction to an accidental beach encounter.

Bashfulness? Probably.

Anger? Likely.

Evasiveness? Maybe.

Lying down next to me so close that our elbows are touching? Unthinkable.

And still, here she is. Her body is glistening in the sun. Her eyes are gleaming seductively.

Wait.

Seductively?

What is going on here? I turn around, look for a candid camera. Maybe for Rigsby who plotted against me with her to get back at me for eating the last donut in the box. I don't notice anything suspicious though.

Lisbon takes a container out of her bag. Watermelon. Juicy. Delicious. She takes a bite and I watch with fascination how she licks the juice off her lips and fingers.

"Want some?" She asks, unexpectedly, ending my revery.

What?!

Oh, 'some' means 'watermelon' in this case. I decline. Fruit is not what I want.

She finishes eating and stores the empty box away. A bottle of sun milk appears in front of my eyes.

"Would you put some lotion on my back, please?"

Of course I would. As strange as this all seems, I can't miss a chance like this.

Her skin feels soft and wonderful under my hands. She sighs with pleasure as I massage her shoulders. The sound and the contact with her body create goosebumps on my arms even though the suns burns down on me from the blue, cloudless sky.

When I'm done, we lie down again, locking eyes. I take in her beautiful face and imagine how it would feel to caress her cheek. How it would be to make love to her right here and now.

She turns away from me and opens her book. I'm breathless with excitement when I read the title of it. Lisbon is reading a self-help book about how to seduce men? In front of my eyes? That has to mean _something_, right? I get brave. Bringing my lips close to her ear, I whisperingly let her know what I'd like to do with her.

She closes her eyes.

And she... smiles?

I'm the luckiest man on earth.

My fingertips stroke her forehead, her nose, her lips. My lips kiss her throat, tenderly touch her breasts, brush against her stomach. My hand disappears between her legs, caresses her gently, teasingly. She gasps when the tip of my tongue enters her auricle.

For a second I am able to think clearly, realize that we are surrounded by people, that having sex on a public beach is probably against the law. But when I feel her hand slipping into my pants, I can't really bring myself to care about impending scandalization charges.

I rather kiss her bellybutton.

Suddenly she is on top of me, straddling me, pushing my bathing trunks down. Before I can count to five, I am inside of her and with forceful, rigourous movements she drives me much too fast to my climax.

Her breasts bounce up and down in front of my face and while I enjoy the view, this is _not_ how I imagined sleeping with her. Call me romantic, but I was thinking rather of something along the lines of candles and nice music and taking our time to explore each other's bodies before actually having sex.

"Jane? Jane! Jaaane!" She moans now and I think that I'd prefer her calling me by my first name in a situation like this.

"Teresa!" I mumble, just to make a point.

She supports herself with her hands on my shoulders while our lovemaking becomes even more ardent.

"Patrick!"

I smile because she just made this whole experience at least a little bit less impersonal. And she... She shakes me? What is that supposed to mean now?!

"Jane? Are you okay?"

Oh.

My.

God.

Horrified I open my eyes and am met with the sight of green ones. The owner of those eyes kneels in the sand right next to me. I could easily touch her without even having to stretch my arm completely. She smells fruity, delicious.

Her towel, with Buster on top of it, is still in the same spot where it was when I closed my eyes. It was a dream. The most vivid dream about sex I had since puberty. And I had it in front of the object of my desire.

She caught me fantasizing.

About her.

I'm unable to meet her eyes once I realize what happened. Even though I am relieved that this strange, rough experience was only a dream, I feel totally embarrassed. Lisbon, on the other hand, seems highly amused by my misery.

I try to convince myself that it is impossible for her to know what _exactly_ I dreamt about. Okay, I might have whispered her name while she was already at my side, but that was only an automatic response to her calling my name. It doesn't prove anything. I'm still lying on my stomach, so any evidence of the nature of my dreaming is well hidden. If only that roguish smirk wouldn't grace her face, then I could really believe she is clueless.

"Is there any reason why you are not turning around?" She then asks with an ambiguous smile, and I blush like a peony.

Unbelievable. Who is this woman and what has she done with the Lisbon who would have at least reddened cheeks after saying something like that?

I should save my neck by making some kind of witty remark, but I can't think of anything that wouldn't make things even more awkward. I've never, in my whole life, felt so transparent before. If some bad-mannered kids would show up now to bury my misbehaving body in the sand, I'd be forever grateful.

She finally takes pity in me and wipes the smug grin off her face. "Hey, I just wanted to have a drink at the bar over there when I noticed you. Want to join me?"

I consult my body. Yes, I'm good to go. Nothing like some major awkwardness to cool you off. So I get up and follow her to the bar, trying _not_ to look at her firm butt in those tiny, revealing bikini bottoms.

She hops onto a bar stool and I do the same. Buster sits down on the ground between us where he keeps a close watch on Lisbon's bag that she dropped next to him. Her book is right on top of it. She orders her drink - a non alcoholic Coconut Kiss - while I try to decipher the title of her reading material. Atonement? I'm relieved to discover that real-life Lisbon is more eclectic than the Lisbon in my dream.

"Sir, what do you like to drink?" A voice interrupts my musing.

Huh? Losing touch with reality seems to happen to me a lot lately. The waiter and Lisbon look at me expectantly. She is additionally smirking.

I try to think of a fancy drink to order. Something sophisticated, decidedly manly. Only I can't think of anything but of how hypnotizing her eyes are.

"Ehm, only a glass of water, please." I finally blurt out and curse myself for choosing something so boring and ordinary.

"Only water? Really? You look like you need something stronger, _Patrick_." She states with amusement in her voice and in her eyes.

Patrick? Oh my, I hope I didn't do _that_ much talking while dreaming. And, just _how long_ has she been watching me before I woke up?

I'm not really sure how to deal with this new side of Lisbon. It's almost as if our roles are reversed, here at the beach. She is the teasing one and I discover that right now it doesn't take much for my cheeks assuming a color that I imagine to be an embarrassing shade of pink.

I need to gain the upper hand back before my body gets even more out of control in her presence.

"Which drink do you suggest, my dear Teresa?" I ask in my most flirtatious voice and take satisfaction in the fact that the use of her first name makes her look less smug. "Piña Colada? Mojito? What?"

She studies my face. No, not only my face. Her eyes travel all over my body, linger longer than necessary on certain spots. This woman is merciless. I uncomfortably shift around on my seat.

"I think," She finally says and lets her mischievous look meet my eyes again. "... you really are in the mood for 'Sex on the Beach' today."

I cough.

I think that this is how _she_ must feel all those times _I_ make suggestive remarks.

I spit out a little of the big gulp of water I just drank. Okay, not a little. All of it.

And what does she do? Anything to make me feel less embarrassed? No. Teresa Lisbon just grins at me and seductively sips her drink through a straw.

I'm suddenly fixated on her lips.

Right now, they probably taste like oceans and bliss and sweet cocktails.

My incorrigible mind whispers a suggestion.

Irresistible.

I lean forward, my lips demanding amends for all the troubles her bikini-clad body and witty mind put me through today. And, much to my amazement, she is more than willing to share a coconut kiss with me.


End file.
